Dove leaned over to look her questioner full in the face, and said flatly, "Dark elves are masters of magic, and Mystra bids me nurture magic wherever I find it. Humans are the most populous and energetic users of magic. . and even I cannot nurture the dead. I want to keep alive all the drow and all the humans I can by avoiding the wars, and drow-hunts, and fresh feuds and hatreds that will come of humans learning too late that one of their cities has been taken over by dark elves. The humans you rightfully distrust will rise to arms in their fear and hatred to obliterate Scornubel, all drow they find, and anything else up and down the Sword Coast that they can call 'drow,' or 'friend of drow,' Lady priestess, I want to save your children. Help me a little."
Hands went to mouths here and there, and Qilue saw tears streaming down more than one face, but another of the faithful screamed, "Words. Words! Those are the deadliest weapons humans use against us, and all others. Clever words, to cloak the evils they work in fair seeming … until it's too late, and another dwarven realm or elven grove or drow city lies in ruins, gone forever, and the shining-eyed humans swarm on to tear down the next obstacle to their absolute rule and mastery."
"Yes," someone else hissed fiercely.
Before Qilue could utter a sound, black lightning stabbed from slender obsidian fingers, wreathing the human woman in ravening magic-magic that clawed, and blazed, then fell away in futility.
"Please," Dove said gently, "don't start this. I-"
"You can die, human!" another priestess-Ierembree-shrieked as the spell she'd just worked brought her favorite dagger into her hand. She sprang up like a boiling bolt of darkness to drive her blade hilt-deep into the belly of this tall, beautiful, insolent human who so profaned holy ground that. . that. .
Thoughts failed her, and in mindless fury Ierembree drove her blade deep again and again, her knuckles slamming home against hard-muscled flesh each time, for all the world as if the human were made of air that her blade could not touch. She stared down at her clean blade in horror, and at the unmarked body of her foe, then gentle fingers closed around her wrist, blue-white in the moonlight.
"Eilistraee is not the only power in Toril to teach magic to mortals, you know," Dove said.
Ivory limbs enfolded the drow priestess Ierembree in an embrace, a seemingly tender cradling that held firm despite kicks and bites-bites that did draw blood, more than one faithful noticed eagerly-and raking fingernails. A roar arose amid the faithful, and obsid shy;ian bodies lunged to their feet, reaching-
"Stay back, sisters," Qilue cried, "or face the full fury of Eilistraee!"
Dark elf limbs froze in mid-surge as their owners stared at the nimbus of bright white fire that now encircled Qilue's upraised hands. There was more than one whimper as the drow settled back onto their knees.
In their midst, Ierembree's ebony-black limbs strug shy;gled on against Dove's unmoving ivory ones. The watching faithful were startled to hear soft human cooing, as a mother might use to soothe a child, and to see human hands stroking the flesh trembling in their grasp. Dove kissed the top of her attacker's head, then lifted the dark elf priestess gently into the air until their faces were level, and kissed the snarling lips before hers.
The raging priestess shrieked, spat into Dove's face, then tried to bite her lips and nose, but Dove's gentle smile never changed. When her panting captive grew weary, she bent her head forward until their foreheads touched.
Ierembree tried to twist her face away from the con shy;tact, her features still contorted in hatred and fury. She stiffened, and her eyes opened wide in amazement.
Amid the kneeling faithful, someone whispered, "Sorcery!"
They saw the priestess turn to look at the human so close to her with no fury left in her face. Ierembree man shy;aged a tentative, tremulous smile, then she relaxed in Dove's arms, and they hugged each other as if they were long-lost friends.
The human set the dark elf down and stroked her shoulder with one last gentle caress. The priestess seemed to be struggling to say something, but could find no words.
Dove drew away from her, murmuring, "I must go now-but I'll return, Ierembree, and we'll talk more. Much more."
She turned and swept Qilue into a similar embrace, heedless of the white fire of deadly magic raging in her sister's hands and splashing down around her.
"Sister," the faithful heard the human say, "Go to Scornubel if you can, walking your own road. I must leave that city. My usefulness there is at an end. My very presence is making the surviving dark elves lie low."
Dove turned to the kneeling priestesses and said, "Farewell, all of you."
Before any of the bewildered faithful could frame a reply, the human strode a few paces into the glade and inclined her head to the Ladystone. Its response was a sudden pulse of blue radiance, a silent winking brighter than the sacred stone had shone in years. In awed silence the faithful watched the human walk away through the trees to where she'd shed her clothes. Dove took them up in a bundle, and walked on through the darkness of the wood until they could see her no more.
A moment later, as if freed from spell-thrall, the priestesses were all on their feet and talking at once, crowding around Ierembree.
"What did she do to you?" one of them demanded.
"Watch her," another said grimly. "If the human took over her wits."
Ierembree threw back her head and laughed. "Stop it, all of you!" She smiled at Qilue over their heads, and told them all, "Her name is Dove, and she did nothing to my wits except give me love. . the love of a friend who'll stand by me." She shook her head in bemusement, and added, "More than that, she showed me she meant it… and what she truly is. Mind to mind; no lying."
She smiled, stretched like a contented cat, and added, "No, Sharala, I'm not crazed. I'm. . happy."
Ierembree turned to the high priestess, who stood like a dark shadow watching them all, and said, "I was in awe of you before, Lady of the Dance. I–I don't know how to say how much I revere you now … a sister of such a lady as Dove … and one whom Dove turns to for aid."
She started to kneel, but Qilue strode forward to snatch her upright again, whirled her into an embrace, and growled, "I'll kiss and cuddle just this once, mind. I'm not the caressing whirlwind certain of my sisters are!"
She turned in Ierembree's arms, and put out a hand to touch the priestess who'd railed against the clever words of humans.
"Llansha," she said formally, "the lead in the dance is yours. Raise your voice too much on the second chant and flames will burst from your arms; they go if you hurl fire at something. As you heard, I've work to do, and must leave you for a time."
"Leave us?" another of the faithful asked angrily. "To settle some human problem by slaying our kind?"
"Thalaera," Qilue replied in a voice of warning iron, as another tense silence fell around them. "I live to serve. Two goddesses birthed me and guide me. I see a little of how they view Faerun, where you cannot. Trust me in this as I trust you with a part of my service for a time, to go and do other service that is needful. If you doubt me, curl yourself around the Ladystone to sleep tonight, pray to Eilistraee for judgment upon me, and learn your answer."
Thalaera stared at the sacred stone then back at the high priestess, her eyes large with fear, and Qilue added gently, "Yes, do that. I mean this not as a chal shy;lenge, but to set your mind at ease as to my loyalties. Learn the truth."